Page 50 of Play Pretend

I thought I said bye, but I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was she wasn’t talking anymore, and the silence was welcomed. But also kind of eerie. Did Ronan leave? I thought he came in. Maybe I was wrong.

Lifting my arm, I peeked around the room. His massive body was wedged in the corner by the front door, his eyes wide as he looked around. The muscle in his jaw rippled like he was clenching and unclenching at a record pace.

“Ro?” I muttered, and his eyes slid to me.

“Your place is…” His voice was tight, like he was straining to say every word. Maybe he was as hungover as I was, but after his second beer he switched to water. “Nice.”

I glanced at the living room and snorted. It was a total mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere, the plants were dying, and I was pretty sure I tried to make instant ramen and gave up last night.

“Sorry for the mess.”

“It’s okay.” His fingers tapped against the plastic bag. He paused, then began tapping again. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

I tilted my head to the side. “You alright, big guy?” I asked softly. Was he a neat freak or something? I didn’t think it was that bad. I’d cleaned the other day—or maybe it was a couple weeks ago. Either way, it was somewhat recently.

“You need a clear path to the door,” he finally said. “It’s dangerous if you can’t get out if there’s an emergency.”

My brows crashed together. “I’ll…keep that in mind.”

“You could trip and fall,” he continued, like he hadn’t even heard me. “And I think those…things…are a fire hazard.” He pointed at the macrame on the wall. “If the fringe catches on fire—” He snapped his fingers. “This whole place will be up in flames.”

“Okay, you’re freaking me out,” I said, sitting all the way up. I looked around my place with fresh eyes.

Itwaskind of dangerous, wasn’t it? I needed to at least pick up the clothes on the floor. But he could pry my macrame from my cold, dead hands. I wasnottaking that off the wall.

I’d worry about cleaning up later, though. Right now, I needed to focus on not dying. Finally, Ronan peeled himself away from the wall and dropped the plastic bag on the other couch. He glanced at the door before his gaze returned to mine.

“You can go,” I offered. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I thought we could hang out today,” he said, his gaze flitting around the room again, lingering on the piles of clothes. They were all clean—mostlyclean. I’d put them on before work, decided I hated them, and tossed them to the floor as I rushed to my closet to find another outfit.

I didn’t think explaining that to him would make him feel better, though.

“Hang out?” I repeated, and he nodded.

“We need to go over…everything.” He cleared his throat, his fingers still tapping together.

Everything. Right.

All the lies.

“Give me an hour,” I grumbled. “Let me shower and find some pain killers?—”

“I brought you some medicine, a sports drink, and a Coke.”

“A Coke?”

He shrugged. “I swore by it when I was younger,” he laughed. “It used to be the only thing to help my hangovers. That, and a giant greasy burger.”

“God,” I moaned. “That sounds so damn good.”

“Hurry up,” he said, tapping his hand against the couch. “Get dressed, and we’ll grab a bite.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

“I’ll be at my place,” he said, hustling to the front door. “Come by when you’re done.”

Before I could get a word out, he was gone. He didn’t even give my pigsty a backward glance.

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